Valentine
by idioticonion
Summary: Barney cooks Robin dinner on Valentine's day. Set in future-time 2030 and written after 4.12, Benefits.
1. Valentine

Valentine

2030

"Scherbatsky! Get your skinny ass in here!" Barney caught the brioche deftly as it popped up from the toaster, spinning around for the smoked salmon and poached egg. He arranged the food on two plates, ladle-ing hollandaise sauce over the top of both eggs and wandered jauntily over to the table, grinning.

Robin emerged from the bathroom, her silk robe tied tightly around her. "Put some clothes on, lover-boy," She laughed. She had a rich, warm laugh. He loved her laugh. Even after all these years he loved her laugh.

He rolled his eyes. "Nah. You take yours off?"

Robin sat down, picking up a fork. "Wow. When you said you were going to cook me dinner, I didn't realise it would be… brunch! Barney, it's seven o'clock at night!"

Barney shrugged. "And we've been in bed all day. What did you want, steak?"

Robin grinned as she began to eat. "Mmmm, Eggs Bene? Barney!" She laughed delighted as he popped the cork on a bottle of Dom Pérignon.

"It's Eggs Royale, but since you're Canadian, you wouldn't be expected to know that."

She mumbled something around a mouthful of food.

"What's that?"

She rolled her eyes and swallowed. "Nothing." He reached forward and wiped a splodge of hollandaise off her chin with his finger. "I just wondered what you wanted to do this evening?"

Barney shrugged, cutting into his Eggs Royale.

"Strip club?" Robin suggested.

Barney laughed. "Marry me, Scherbatsky?"

Her eyes twinkled. He loved asking her just to see that reaction. He asked her to marry him at least once a week. "Really? Today? On Valentine's day?" She said, incredulously.

He grinned. "Hey it gives me the element of surprise!"

"You know, this is delicious."

"Of course it is."

She mumbled again, too busy eating to question his strange and sudden acquisition of culinary expertise.

"Happy birthday." He said, just watching her eat. She looked so, so beautiful; she was a heartbreaker, even now.

"S'not my birthday for another week," she mumbled.

"Yeah, but when that comes around, everyone else will go crazy."

"Barney, please don't let them throw me a huge party. I still haven't quite got over yours."

He laughed. "I'll tell them all you're still 49, I swear. But I thought we could do something. You know? Something special?"

She smirks. She's still such a ball-breaker. She hasn't mellowed, not one bit. "Maybe. But did I tell you about Singapore? They're sending me for three weeks to report on the big financial crisis there."

"Wow…" He drawled. "You know, I could see if I can arrange something. Something work related. In Singapore?"

Robin ran a hand through her wet hair and grinned. "No pressure."

He shrugged. No, of course. No pressure. That meant that she absolutely wanted him to go. Twenty years with the girl and he'd at least gained some experience in translating _Robinspeak_. "Of course. You know, only if it works out." He gave her a casual grin and she didn't meet his eye at first. But then she looked up and she smiled - the smile that threw him back against the wall and skewered him, like a butterfly pinned to a cork board. So much between them was settled in grins and glances. "So…" He said, chuckling. "That strip club…?"

She dabbed her lips with a napkin and giggled. "Maybe later. Right now, you know what I really, really need?"

"More sex?" He asked, hopefully.

"A cigarette."

*--*--*

They ran along the sidewalk, him holding her hand like they were teenagers. It wasn't far to the nearest store from his brownstone (_their_ brownstone? She didn't even bother to have an apartment in New York any more) but she was soon clutching her side with a grimace of pain.

"You okay?" He asked her, hovering over her.

"Yeah… it's just that Eggs Bene. I can't take rich food these days."

"That's bull-crap. You eat pizza every day when you're working nights!" He laughed as she stood up straight, breathing deeply. "Come on, this is the only place I can think of that still sells cancer sticks."

Robin laughed. "When did the world turn into Mary Poppins? It's lucky you dressed up. They might not serve me." She grinned. "Nice suit by the way!"

"It's new…" He chuckled, as they ducked into the store.

It was pretty much deserted but Robin insisted on looking around before they went up to the counter. While she was browsing the shelves he grabbed her from behind and nuzzled her neck. She made a kind of adorable sneezing-giggle and slapped him away. Well worth it.

They were just getting into a more serious teenager-style make-out when there was a very large bang and they jolted away from each other. "What the f-?" Robin said before Barney dragged her down to the ground, cowering behind the shelving. There were two more loud bangs - gun shots - in quick succession, and then screaming.

"Someone's got a gun," Robin whispered, comically loudly.

"No kidding," Barney muttered, peering through the packets of cookies to try and see what was going on. "Don't suppose you have yours in your purse there?"

She clicked her tongue.

"No. Of course not." As he silently moved one of the packets, Barney could see a man holding a gun at the guy behind the counter. Someone was on the floor - he couldn't quite see, but that was where the screaming was coming from. He shifted, carefully, and the entire scene came into view. "Oh my god, he's shot a kid!" He hissed.

"No!" Robin covered her mouth with her hand, eyes wide as saucers.

"Look, stay here…" He said, adrenalin pumping through him. He couldn't get the image of the kid out of his mind - a little girl, blood pooling around her on the floor.

"Barney!" Robin grabbed his arm. "Don't!"

"Shh…" He held up his hands. "Call 911. I won't do anything stupid." He grinned at her and she glared back. "Phone? Come on! Focus, Scherbatsky?"

He left her and crept around the stacks and peered around the corner by the door. The guy with the gun was yelling something about taking money out of the cash register. All his attention was focussed on the store's owner and the screaming kid. It would be easy to get behind him and…

Barney darted out and grabbed the guy's wrist, sending the gun skittering out of his hand and across the floor towards the kid. He span the guy around and landed an angry punch across his jaw. Stepping back, he gave the owner a half grin and a nod, confused by the terror in the man's eyes. Okay, so that was a pretty awesome and badass move he'd busted, but really? What did the shopkeeper have to fear from a fifty-five year old white dude in a suit? Come on!

The man lifted his arm and pointed to a spot over Barney's shoulder.

Then something punched him in the back…

*--*--*

Robin held on to him, her arms wrapped impossibly tight around him. She kept saying his name over and over and over and it was hard to concentrate on that one repeated word. He felt cold and she was so remote. He was slipping…

Then she smiled, the smile that lifted his heart and scooped up his insides and pinned him to the wall and pulled his lungs out through his windpipe and so he asked her, of course: "Marry me, Scherbatsky?"

He blinked. It was strange because you don't normally notice when you blink but he could see his eyelids move up and down. Up and down.

So cold... Blink…

Slipping... Blink…

She pressed her face against his, cheek to cheek, but he couldn't feel her. Couldn't feel her…

He opened his mouth to ask her again. Perhaps she hadn't heard him? Because her eyes weren't twinkling…

Blink…

Perhaps she hadn't-


	2. My Way

###Note: Sam is the name I use for James and Tom's son.

###

###

My way

Sam fiddles with the cuff of his sleeve, then with his watch, scratching his wrist. Everything's wrong. He feels hemmed in - the church is too full and the atmosphere is too oppressive. He feels angry that no-one will talk to him. He's the eldest of all the cousins - he's twenty-two, not a kid - so why can't they just have a proper conversation? When he comes near, the adults just shut up.

Uncle Ted was yelling at Aunt Robin earlier. She just took it, silent and kind-of blank. He doesn't like that. You shouldn't yell at women like that. He cut loose and escaped, took his car out for a couple of hours until Dad called him, angrily.

Everyone's so angry.

They make him sit next to Luke, who scowls and looks like he doesn't want to be there either. They all look weird in their matching jeans-and-sweater ensemble. It doesn't make any sense.

They are in church. You're supposed to look good in church. That's what his uncle always told him.

But Sam guesses that a lot of what his uncle told him was probably bull-crap.

There's a point, about half way through the service, where everyone cries. Sam shoots a look at Luke, who shrugs. Luke's expression is weirdly pinched, like he's trying to hold something back. Sam can't read him, can't understand him. He feels like he's gone deaf as the singing barely reaches his ears.

Luke throws an arm around his sister's shoulder and she leans against him. That's wrong too, because Sam's never seen a time when those two weren't fighting like brother and sister should be. Now they're hugging and it just lights a fire inside him. He grinds his teeth.

Stupid, stupid.

Sam sits through the entire thing, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt in a drafty church that he's been in, like, a thousand times before. But the place isn't comforting. It's just mocking him.

Tomorrow he's going to have to go back to college, go back to his normal life. He's going to have to carry on like nothing's changed.

Beside him, Luke lets out a quiet sigh.

"Your Dad still telling you those stories?" Sam asks him.

Luke bites his lip and nods, not trusting himself to speak. Sam feels a stab of jealously. He wishes that his Dad would open up a little like Uncle Ted was. He wants to hear all about his Dad and his uncle and his friends, but first hand, not through the occasional grumblings of his cousin.

Some of the stories sound crazy. He wonders if Uncle Ted made them up to keep his kids from thinking about what was really going on. Focus on the past and forget the present.

Aunt Robin doesn't make the eulogy. Aunt Lily says a few words, before Uncle Marshall has to go up and get her. They are both trying not to cry and crying harder for it.

Aunt Robin doesn't say a thing. Sam wonders what she's thinking. Does she regret not getting married? Not having kids? He's sure he overheard Aunt Lily saying something like that to his Dad. But she's amazing… Aunt Robin's awesome. She's still sexy even though she's his Dad's age. She's still got it. Yes she looks like she's a walking corpse right now. She doesn't speak or react.

She doesn't even cry.

He knows how she feels. He knows exactly how she feels.

When Sam was thirteen, his uncle took him to a strip club. The girls there made a fuss of him and one of them let him touch her boob. It was the most amazing thing he's ever done. All his friends at school thought he was the coolest kid for about a month.

Now Sam doesn't know what to feel about that. Because he always thought his uncle was superman and batman and god all rolled into one. He always thought his uncle had it all figured out.

They keep "the kids" away from the coffin. Luke holds his sister's hand and little Stephanie Erikson (curly red hair, bright as a button) keeps looking over solemnly, at the adults clustered around the casket. She slips her hand through his and squeezes it, a serious expression on her face.

It shakes Sam out of his own funk a little.

The burial seems to go surprisingly quickly. Sam always imagined these things take hours. But he stands at the back and can't see anything and the priest's droning voice puts him into some sort of trance. At the end, they're all herded back towards the black cars, parked in a line like they were the FBI or something. Uncle Marshall comes and stands next to him.

"Hey, Sam," He say, with a half smile. His eyes are sad, really sad. Sam can't stand to look at him so he looks at the earth instead. There's lots of grass here. It's too green. It's too full of life. It's almost mocking him. "How're you doing?" Marshall asks. "How's college?"

"Fine I guess," Sam shrugs.

Marshall doesn't push him. He just stands with him as the crowd thins.

Sam wonders if the priest thinks its weird that not one person has dressed up for the occasion - that not one man is wearing a suit and tie. He wonders if the priest thinks it's disrespectful?

He lets out a sigh at exactly the same time as Uncle Marshall. His uncle laughs at their synchronicity and pats him on the back. "Come on buddy, let's finish this…"

*--*--*

At the wake, Sam begins drinking, hard. He finds his Dad's bottle of best single-malt and drinks it neat. Shots. No ice, no soda. With each one he curses his uncle, while at the same time he can hear people talking about the man, trying to find something nice to say about him.

That's the trouble with his uncle. That _was_ the trouble with his uncle, Sam corrects himself. He was funny and interesting and did crazy, dangerous things but he wasn't really _nice_. He didn't do _nice_. At least, he didn't do anything nice where there were people around to see him.

But Sam knows how much his uncle did for people and it cuts him somehow, deep inside, that no one seems to realise it. He tries to numb the pain and each shot of burning liquid dulls his senses a little. The alcohol soaks into his system just enough to pull his guard down so that he starts to feel something again… loss… confusion… something that isn't anger.

How fucking ironic.

That's the trouble about Uncle Barney. Barney, the man he's idolised his entire life. His entire, pathetic life. Barney, his uncle, his hero, his…

A shadow falls over him. It's his Aunt Lily.

"Sam, honey. Are you okay?" She asks. She sounds concerned but Sam doesn't bother to look at her. He knows what he'll see. Smudged makeup, worried eyes. They all look like that right now. Clones. Idiots. Mourning _him_.

Mourning his Uncle Barney.

Who didn't deserve anyone to mourn him.

"Leave me alone," Sam says, his voice low, dangerous.

Lily takes a step back. "You know…" She says, gently. "You sound just like him. Your uncle, I mean."

"_What_?" Sam shouts, his own voice sounding abrupt and loud even to him. "I am _nothing_ like him!" He rants, scrambling to his feet. His head swims - jesus, he was completely wasted - and his legs feel like lead. "I am nothing _fucking_ like him!" Lily tries to grab his arm, to calm him down, but Sam pushes her away. All he can taste was scotch and fire and other people's emotions and the anger that has built inside him explodes, right from the centre of his chest, radiating outwards in a tirade of bile and hatred. "I'm still _alive_, Lily! I'm still here! I'm not the one who got myself fucking _shot_ trying to stop as stupid, dumb, low-rent fucker from robbing a liquor store! I'm not the one who wasted my life in such a pointless, useless…"

Sam is trying not to slur his words but that just makes it worse. He's barely aware of what he's saying any more, not even trying to make sense out of something so senseless. He pushes past Lily and the relatives and runs through the house, fumbling for his keys. He is dimly aware that he's far too drunk to actually drive but he's going to give it a damn good try anyway. He manages to get the car door open and is trying to work out how you get that little tiny key in that little tiny hole when someone grabs it out of his hand. He yells and punches the dashboard, hurting his knuckles, the pain reaching him even through the fog of booze.

"Hey, hey…" A pair of arms wrap around him and hold him tightly. His face is wet, sopping wet. It soaks through the material of his Dad's sleeve as it presses against him. Sam fights each spasm that wracks his body, wrestles with every sob. He says things, meaningless words that streamed out of him and still his Dad holds him. Eventually he comes back to himself and rubbs his face. He can barely keep his eyelids open.

"Oh god…" He said, shakily.

"I know, Sam, I know…"

His Dad helps him out of the car and Tom is there, taking half his weight, supporting him. The rest of them are standing in the street or in the doorway, staring at him and Aunt Lily tries to fuss them inside.

The beginnings of the embarrassment that will hit him later (full fucking force) starts to creep up on him.

Tom gets him to the bottom of the stairs while his Dad reassures Ted that he'll be okay and he just had too much to drink. Sam can't even remember what he said. What did he say? Oh god, did he swear at his Aunt Lily?

His head swims. The bottle of single malt had barely enough for one shot in the bottom. The only thing he remembers is the sense of relief when he accidentally pushed it over with his foot.

He can almost hear his uncle's voice. "Waste of a good drink, Sam…"

When he was fifteen, his uncle bought him a pack of six "highly illegal Cuban cigars" and took him to a private members club to smoke them. It was the weirdest, seediest thing he'd ever done. Even more illicit than the strip club. His uncle always got him the best birthday presents.

Sam tries to struggle out of Tom's arms. He can feel the tears come again (Bros don't cry) and he knows he's making a fool out of himself but he's far, far too full of pain to do anything but kick back at the world.

He's twenty-two. He's a man. He feels like a child who's favourite toy has been taken away. He feels stupid and selfish and he hates every single person in the room.

He rounds on Aunt Robin. "YOU!" He yells. "If it wasn't for you, he'd still be alive. If you hadn't taken him into that store, Uncle Barney wouldn't have been kill-"

She slaps him - a harsh, ringing slap that cuts into his cheek and smashes into his brain. He staggers back and falls heavily.

Robin glares down at him, her eyes flashing, the first reaction anyone has got from her all day. The first reaction Sam's seen her give all week.

"He died, Sam. It was an accident. It was no-one's fault." She sniffs, her face aflame with anger… passion… something that makes Sam shrink back in Tom's arms. His Dad is standing behind her, ready to intervene, but Ted holds him back. "Barney died doing what he always did, Sam. What he always did his whole life. He never ran away from anything, Sam. He died _living_…" Robin covers her face with her hands and her shoulders begin to shake. She doesn't sob theatrically, not like others had in the church. She doesn't cry loudly. But she crumples in on herself and Sam can see the despair well up out of her.

That kind of despair only comes out of the greatest love and the greatest loss.

That kind of despair is too painful to live through.

All you can do is try to exist, day to day.

Tom begins to drag him up the stairs to his bedroom and Sam knows, without a doubt, that he'd wake up the next morning and face his hangover and try to exist.

His Aunt Robin will wake up the next day and try to exist.

But _living_? That was something they'd both have to learn how to do all over again.


	3. Just an inch

**Just an inch **

:--: Please note, this story is an alternative ending to "_**Valentine**_".

2030

It all happens so fast:

Robin grabbing his arm, him shrugging her off; Barney creeping around the stacks, grabbing the gunman, punching him once, twice, the red mist of rage that descends on him…

Then he's kicked in the back…

Adrenalin pumping (something pumping) warm beneath his body, because he's lying on the floor and Robin's screaming into her cell phone. Someone sprints down the aisle and grabs his arm, turning him roughly on to his front and there's a horrible, ripping sound (please not his suit!) and then he's drowning in the taste of iron.

Robin's there, saying his name over and over, rhythmically. He wants to talk but he just dribbles into the cold tiles.

Cold.

Robin's squeezing his hand and he can feel that (at least) but he's being pushed into the floor and it numbs the side of his face, flattens his nose and there's no room at all for air as he struggles to breathe.

He tries to talk, he wants to talk, he has to tell her, has to…

There's a sharp pain in his fingers before he goes under…

*--*--*

She's still holding his hand and he's being rattled about, his body swaying and jerking and it's making him feel sick. He tries to protest but his throat is full of something and he gags. He tries to open his eyes, to fight the feeling of intense lethargy because he hears her frightened, desperate voice but the words make no sense.

He tries to squeeze her hand but he hasn't the strength.

There's a banging sound, cold air and the stench of diesel. Then he's being lifted, shoved and the darkness rises up to meet him…

*--*--*

He's aware of distant, disconnected images, sensations. Her hand holding his, that's always the constant - right up until there's someone else, a green shape bending over him wearing a surgical mask and holding his fingers up in front of him. Yes, Barney thinks. Yes, you are holding up three fingers. Well done.

He tries to shrug. The world goes black.

*--*--*

He's drifting... aware of the passage of time, but also not. He's aware of her holding his hand, lacing her fingers through his, but also not. Is it a memory of her hand? He's half blank/half hallucination. He's barely awake because it doesn't feel like he's alive. Can't move, can't speak, can't see. What life is this? Mostly it's warm, comforting darkness and absence of anything, even dreams. And that's okay by him.

*--*--*

Slowly, awareness returns. The first thing he remembers (the first thing he _remembers_) is squeezing her hand. Her actual hand. He wants to say "Marry me, Scherbatsky" because it always makes her laugh but his tongue isn't doing his job. He considers firing his tongue and hiring something else to do the speaking. It's just not good enough.

She laughs, so he assumes she hears him. "One inch," she whispers (he wants to turn up the volume! Where is the remote?) with a smile in her voice. "The bullet... one inch either way and you'd be dead." She lets out a shaky breath. "And one minute… one more minute and you'd have bled out. Thank god for Felix. He's a nurse - he was in the right place at the right time."

Felix? Who is this Felix? And why is Robin doing that quivery voice over some other guy? Felix is such a lame name. She'd never go with a guy called _Felix_.

"Marry me, Scherbatsky?" He manages to say, plaintively, desperately. He's scared. He doesn't want her to let him go. Without her hand in his, he might not make his way back. The next time he sleeps, he might not find a way to wake up again.

"I said yes, already!" Robin laughs. "Will you stop asking me?"

"Never," he rasps. He never will.

*--*--*

Sleep only brings bad dreams...

_"Barney!" Robin grabs his arm. "Don't!" _

_"Shh…" He holds up his hands. "Call 911. I won't do anything stupid." He grins at her and she glares back. "Call it then?"_

*--*--*

He snaps awake. Something's wrong. Something's really wrong. It's dark, but not the dark of his apartment and everyone stinks, medicinal, cloying. He feels sick, really sick. He begins to sweat, his heart pounding double-time against his ribs.

He's fifty-four year's old for Christ's sake! He shouldn't have to suffer pranks at his age.

He's alone. Always alone. Alone…

He lays awake in the darkness for hours, like a terrified little boy. He wakes the next morning when they turn on the lights, his face feeling stiff, his cheeks still damp from the tears.

When she arrives, looking worn, older, he grits his teeth and tells her:

"Get me the hell out of here."

*--*--*

_There's a guy with a gun and he's yelling something about taking money out of the cash register. All his attention seems to be focussed on the store's owner and the screaming little kid, rolling on the floor in a pool of his own blood. The kid's going to die. He can't let that happen… can't…_

*--*--*

When he's alone, he's lucid, focussed, angry.

He has visitors - Ted and Maggie and the kids, who hop on his bed regardless of any instruction not to. Barney loves kids. He loves that they break the rules, joyously and with abandon. He loves that they live like there's no tomorrow.

He pulls Luke into a hug. Okay, so they are teenagers now, but they still feel like kids to him. His age is reflected in their youth but that's fine.

He doesn't mind growing old.

It's better than being dead.

*--*--*

_The gun skitters out of the bad guy's hand and across the floor towards the injured kid and Barney leans back, spins, lands an angry punch across the guy's jaw._

_He's awesome._

_He's stupid. _

_The guy as the till lifts his arm and points to a spot over Barney's shoulder. _

_Then something punches him in the back…_

*--*--*

The hospital pastor marries them at his bedside as soon as Barney's strong enough to hold a pen.

"This doesn't change anything," Robin says with a wry smile. She wears a beautiful, demure satin dress.

"Of course not…" He agrees. He wouldn't change anything. Not on purpose.

"If you ever do _anything_ that stupid again, I will shoot you myself!" She says, winking at the pastor.

Barney can tell that the dude doesn't know what to make of them.

"Wish we could do this in church," he says with a groan. He's in pain but it's worth it.

Worth it.

Robin gives him a look, like he's being crude.

"Get married," He elaborates. "In church. I feel I owe the big guy one. I owe him a lot."

"One inch…" Robin says, and he'd give anything to take away the pain in her eyes. "So close…"

He slips the ring on her finger and squeezes her hand. "Not close enough."

They both agree, just before they do this, that they aren't actually going to _wear_ the rings. They're just part of a ritual that wouldn't feel right without matching bands of gold.

But he never takes the ring off. He can't exactly explain why, he just doesn't.

When he's released, they go back to his Manhattan apartment and they make love for the first time as husband and wife and it changes nothing. They are still Barney and Robin. They answer to no one but themselves.

But everything _has_ changed.


	4. Reanimate 1

**Reanimate****  
**

_**Author's note: This story is part of the Zombie!verse created by HIMYM fans on Livejournal, particularly da_pheonix13. In this 'verse, Barney was reanimated as a Zombie after the events in Valentine. **_

By sheer coincidence, the five of them were huddled around their old booth at MacLaren's when the news broke. At first, they were too deep in conversation to hear it.

"Topic for today," Barney announced, "is what does Barney Stinson miss the most about being human? Extra points for family-friendly answers" They all laughed. It was pretty much the only way they could get through this, watching their friend fall apart (sometimes literally) before their eyes as the weeks went by.

"Play the piano," Marshall said. "Sorry buddy."

Barney laughed, holding up one heavily-taped and splinted hand. "Dude, not cool."

"Smoking!" Robin said with a grin. "Is that family friendly?"

Barney shrugged. "Don't think most kids would know a cigar if it hit them between the eyes. Ach, to think I'd live to see the day. Oh wait! I didn't!" He winked. Well, he tried. His eyelids were a little sluggish and neither of his hands were able to make a fist for anyone to bump.

It was becoming increasing hard to keep it together, in every sense.

Ted was just about to offer another suggestion when Amy the waitress (Wendy having moved on many years before) shouted to everyone to pipe down as she fiddled with the volume on the bar's battered and incredibly old-fashioned HD TV.

News reporting was always sporadic during a Zombie uprising. There would be weeks before the government could get the populace under control and begin broadcasting again. It looked like this latest period of unrest was coming to an end when the familiar US flag filled the screen and the picture resolved itself into the face of a very serious man, who began telling them that the Zombie menace was finally being defeated.

Many of the bar's occupants went back to their drinking. After all, the cynical New Yorkers had heard it all before over the years - three times before, to be precise. But as the details began to unfold, a different atmosphere spread through the bar and people began talking excitedly. There was even a whoop of excitement from one particularly drunken patron. Amy the waitress shushed him.

On the TV screen, a familiar stock image was shown, an image of a man everyone has seen before. Beneath the image, a tickertape of text ran, saying: "Scientist finds cure to Zombie plague. Fifty percent of states already Zombie free." The pictures changed to a map of the continental united states showing a red-color sweeping rapidly across from east to west. The next set of video images showed a marching phalanx of the National Guard carrying tanks, with an attached hose and nozzle, spraying red liquid liberally over the hoards of the undead. The rampaging Zombies seemed to crumple under the spray and fall to the ground.

The news report went on to announce that the chemical being used in the video pictures was designed to seep into the earth, the water, even the air, and slowly spread across the entire continent. The chemical attacked the Zombie virus, causing each Zombie to revert to their original human state. Since all Zombies were essentially reanimated corpses, as soon as they became human again, they became very dead once more. No Zombie would be able to survive. All that would be left was the (admittedly mammoth) task of clean-up and re-burial of those loved-ones who could still be identified.

In forty-eight hours, America would be free of Zombies, always and forever.

A ragged cheer went up around the bar, which died out as Robin got to her feet and simply glared at everyone until they stopped. Everyone had seen Robin Scherbatsky in action and no one felt like arguing with her.

"No," she said simply, as if such a thing would not be, could not be, allowed to exist.

"Sit down, baby," Barney said, sitting back in his chair. "It's Ted's turn."

"But didn't you hear what they said?" Robin asked him, incredulously. There were twin points of colour, high on her cheeks, as if she'd been slapped twice across the face. Her eyes were wide and angry.

"Yeah," he said. "And if that's true, there's nothing we can do."

Robin sank down beside him and, for a second, Barney caught Ted's eye. His best friend of nearly thirty years gave him a wintry smile and nodded his head. Barney rested both his arms on the wooden table and tried not to show how much this simple gesture of support tore him up inside.

And to think, Barney actually thought none of his friends understood the hell he was going through.

"So he finally did it," Marshall said, breaking the silence that had descended over their table. "Dr Horrible finally found the cure."

"Well, didn't he cause all this business in the first place?" Lily asked, frowning. "Damn right he should be the one to find a cure."

"C'mon," Ted said, shooting Lily a look. "That was never proved. Besides, the guy's been working for, like, twenty years to fix this. If he'd have caused it…"

"Then he'd have found the cure way before this," Barney finished. They all looked at each other. "Hey, at least we had six months." He continued, as Robin's hands balled into fists beside him, as Lily's eyes filled with tears. "At least we got to say goodbye, right?"

Robin hit him in the arm.

*--*--*

Later, in their bedroom, Robin was standing by the window looking out at the mostly-darkened city. The city that never sleeps had become the city where people don't go out at night. Soon they'd get their electricity back on a more reliable basis. Then they wouldn't all need generators and wouldn't need to barter for the oil to run them. And their refrigerators would work and they wouldn't need to worry about the Zombie Nutrients going bad.

No, scratch that! They wouldn't have to worry about their Zombie Nutrients at all.

Robin knew that Barney was a special case. She knew that 99% of zombies were grotesque monsters. She knew that part of her should be grateful.

But the second she allowed herself to think that she'd lose him - the man she'd only just got back - a vice closed around her heart and her stomach dropped - she was in freefall. She couldn't think or process or cope at all. How could fate be so cruel as to bring him back to her, only to snatch him away again?

They'd only had six months.

"Robin?" His voice came, quiet and tentative, from the bed. The bed where he'd lain beside her every night, his body cool and still, even though she was well aware that he didn't need to sleep.

"Scherbatsky?" He said, a little more loudly, when she didn't answer.

Robin turned around with a muffled sigh, walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. He was holding something in his hand. A small glass test tube filled with something dark. At first she thought it was the Nutrient. Then she saw his expression.

"No," she said. "No."

He nodded his head, slowly, waiting for her to come to terms with it.

"Where did you get that filthy stuff?" She said, her throat closing, choking the words.

She could see his smirk, even in the dim light. "Please, I know a guy."

Of course he did. "That's it?" She asked him. "The Zombie killing chemical they were talking about on the TV?"

He nodded again. "Yeah."

She shook her head, adamantly. "No. We'll find a way. There's got to be a way."

Barney looked down at the vial in his hand. His one good hand. "This is the way."

She didn't understand.

"This is a way for us to control it. To say goodbye. Here, tonight. Not in the street when the National Guard come to town."

Robin could feel the tear dislodge from the corner of her eye to roll, hot and bitter, down her cheek. "No. Barney. No! Not yet. It's too soon!"

He looked up and her and suddenly she could see how tired he was. His once bright-blue eyes were covered in a milky film. His face was pinched and bone white. There was a desperate resignation in his gaze. "We've had time. We had six months. Now you have to let me go."

Robin shook her head again, more tears spilling over her cheeks. Denial.

"Robin, look at me!" He said, icy fingers gripping her chin. "Really look at me!" He sighed. "It's time. Please."

Robin felt the end approaching, the final hour, minutes, seconds and still she fought against it. "No!"

But in the end, it was her who opened the vial, with hands shaking almost too hard to do so. It was her who sprinkled the contents over his skin, who poured the liquid onto his tongue (neither of them knew how it was supposed to work).

And it was her who sat and held his had and felt her heart shredded, scalded, the pain almost too much to bear as he slipped away from her a second time.

*--*--*

Robin nudged her Ford through the homicidal Los Angeles Traffic towards downtown, her brain almost completely numb, her fingers gripping the wheel tightly. She'd been driving for days now, stopping only when she needed to sleep, then wasting valuable time crashed in a stupor in run-down motels. She'd made an effort to smarten herself up for the final run into the city, spending her remaining cash on a smart suit and a haircut from a small store in what was left of Vegas.

The Zombies had flocked to Vegas. Something about the bright lights.

Anyway, the one benefit of being an ex-reporter, from the days when that profession didn't come with so much of a health warning, was that Robin still had her official press pass. And so it wasn't hard to get past security at Main and 75th and work her way through to the front of the crowd that had gathered for the press conference that was about to take place.

Anger had fuelled her for almost three thousand miles, through exhaustion and grief and the horror of the deepest, most profound loss. Now, smiling a plastic smile and nodding cordially at the other members of the press corps, it was that anger that was all that kept her upright. It was muted though, curled up in a latent, barely-glowing ember in her gut. That is, until the man, the focus of her fury, came on to the stage.

It was strange, seeing him in person. The TV news reports always used the same photograph of Dr Horrible - one that must have been taken many years ago. In a lot of ways, the guy looked the same. Older, but actually he could be anyone, dressed up in that ridiculous labcoat, his trademark goggles obscuring his eyes. Robin was incredibly suspicious at first, thinking that this was some kind of con, some kind of conspiracy by the government. But then Dr Horrible began to speak.

His voice was soft, but assured. He spoke authoritatively and in depth about the Zombie Plague and the methods used to combat it. There was absolute silence while he spoke and for a full minute after he stopped.

And then, once it started, the clamour from the reporters around her was almost deafening. Robin slipped discretely from the back of the pack and our of the room, using her press pass and her feminine whiles (fifty and she still had it, hey-oh!) to find the room where they'd been holding Dr Horrible and conceal herself inside. She waited for an hour, in the cool, cramped space of a small cleaner's closet. But she would have waited for days.

She would have waited for weeks for retribution. Someone had to pay for what happened to Barney. It might as well be Dr Horrible.

The metal of the Smith and Wesson tucked into the back of her waistband bit into her flesh. Her legs cramped. Her head thudded with stress and dehydration and sheer exhaustion. But still she waited.

Eventually she heard the door open and saw the flash of white of Dr Horrible's trademark labcoat. She opened the closet door just enough to watch him pull off his gloves, slide the goggles up to his forehead and remove the white coat.

At that point, Robin slipped out of the closet, and pulled out her gun.

"Turn around," She growled.

The Doctor jumped, covering his heart as he whirled around, and for the first time, Robin got a good look at his face. She almost dropped her gun when she saw it.

"Oh god," She muttered, and her eyes rolled back in her head and she fainted dead away.


	5. Reanimate 2

When Robin awoke, she opened her eyes slowly, coming back to light, shape and the sound of his voice. She was lying on the low couch, still in the cramped room she's invaded after the press conference. Dr Horrible was sitting beside her in a rickety plastic chair and he was turning her gun over and over in his hands.

"No one ever understood how it felt to lose her, to know it was my fault." He said, his voice was so soft that she barely heard him. "Have you ever lost anyone Ms Sch-herbat-sky?" He pronounced her name strangely and, when she turned her head, she could that see he was reading it from her Press Pass.

"Many people have tried to kill me," he said musingly. He looked so like Barney in that moment that Robin let out a tiny gasp, causing him to look over at her sharply.

But no, he wasn't Barney. There were tiny differences. He was a little thinner and his skin on his nose and cheeks was pink with sunburn. His thick hair had more blonde strands than grey, so maybe he was a little younger? But he had Barney's eyes. Bright blue, intelligent and piercing. Barney's eyes, like _before_…

"They didn't know…" Dr Horrible said, interrupting Robin's reverie. "They couldn't possibly understand. They didn't understand that I would have done _anything_ to get Penny back…"

The reporter in Robin wanted to ask who Penny was. The survivor in Robin kept her mouth tightly shut.

Dr Horrible shook his head. "I couldn't stand it… I _needed_ to-" He took a breath. "I couldn't _feel_ without her. She was everything. Without her, my life was over." He pulled a faded photograph from his pocket of a young girl with red hair.

Robin was torn by ambivalence. She wanted to slap him for being pathetic, moping over some girl half his age. But her brain was getting continually slammed by some kind of invisible lump hammer and the inside of her mouth tasted dry and furry so she wasn't inclined to comment. Also, she knew a little something of what he was rambling about - the pain gnawed away inside of her too.

"So many years ago…" Dr Horrible said. Robin waited for him to continue his monologue but he didn't seem in a hurry to impart any more words of wisdom or to shoot her, so she hauled herself into a sitting position.

"Dude, what in the hell are you talking about?" She demanded.

He looked up in surprise and frowned, like he'd forgotten she was there at all. "Penny," he said simply. "She died. She started all this."

Robin's usually incisive intellect was slowly working itself back into action. "Your girlfriend died? And you decided to play god, to bring her back? You _did_ start all this? The Zombies?"

He actually laughed - a sudden explosive bark that made her jump. "Hah! She wasn't my girlfriend. And I didn't really bring her back. Bowie helped. But he..." Horrible sneered with distaste. "Should have known, I guess. You don't get into the Evil League of Evil by being public spirited." He looked even younger when he smiled like that. He looked even more like… like…. Robin shook her head.

Barney was gone. Suddenly she felt like a bucket of cold water had been poured over her head and she began to shiver. Shock, she realised. "Dude, what are you saying here?" She asked him.

"We brought Penny back _wrong_," the Doctor explained. "The process didn't just stop with her, and when she attacked Bowie, she escaped and…" He shook his head. "I couldn't kill her. Not again. Couldn't do it. Couldn't just…" He seemed to run out of energy suddenly, like a toy whose batteries had run down.

"So instead, you let Penny escape, to infect the world?"

He actually smiled at that. "Nobody's perfect…"

Before she could stop herself she blurted, "You sound just like him."

Obviously this confused Dr Horrible but before he had a chance to ask her about it, Robin had swung her legs off the edge of the couch and was getting to her feet. "Well, I've taken up enough of your time."

He didn't make a move to stop her, just watching her in a way that would have made her skin crawl if she hadn't been used to Barney.

Barney.

Who was _dead_.

And here was this guy - this ghost of a Doctor - making her feel worse, and trying to engage her in a complicated love story that was ancient history. She wanted out.

"You can't leave," He blurted suddenly, as she headed for the door.

"And why's that? You think I can't get back through your security?" She said with a low chuckle, but when she turned around, her attention was grabbed immediately by the muzzle of her own gun pointed towards her.

But that wasn't what chilled her. It was him - the smirk that spread slowly across his face, and the sparkle in those blue eyes. Robin was suddenly very aware that the man she was facing was extremely dangerous.

He was also, almost certainly, completely insane.

*--*--*

"Do you know how long it took for me to get it right?" Dr Horrible asked her as he led Robin out the back of the building. "Do you know how many people we killed in order to perfect the resurrection ray?"

Robin tried to ignore him, but she was manhandled into the back of an SUV by two burley guys in suits and shades. She wanted to point out that he'd hardly "perfected" his precious ray. But it had raised the dead.

"So many…. just to give Penny that one last chance," Horrible mused. "Bowie never liked the word Zombie..."

"You killed _him_." Robin said flatly, just to shut Horrible up more than anything. Just to make him stop talking.  
Horrible looked over at her questioningly. "Who?"

"My-" Robin swallowed. "The man I loved. He was a Zombie. He was shot dead, then he came back, six feet under, in his coffin."

Horrible looked straight ahead. "Then technically I didn't kill him. He was reanimated by the plague, but he was dead already." His voice was so damn matter-of-fact.

"You killed him the second time. You killed him with your damn cure. All the un-life went out of him and I lost him. Again. You killed him again."

Horrible stared out of the window in silence as their car cut into the downtown traffic. Finally he said. "A mercy then. That he was struck down before he could infect you."

Robin shook her head. "He wasn't that kind of Zombie. At the end, Barney held my hand and he… just faded away." Tears pricked her eyes.

Horrible looked over at her with a sudden interest, that at first she took for sympathy, until he spoke. "He was still sentient?"

She shrugged. "Yes. Yes, he was." Her throat closed again and her finger itched for the trigger of her gun. She needed to shoot something. "Right up the end." Right up until he begged her for release.

Horrible tapped his chin with a single finger. "Penny wasn't. Sentient, I mean. I always theorised that thought that they lost their minds? That death, the cannibalistic hunger. No one comes back from death unchanged."

Robin sighed. How could she ever explain it to this man? Barney's indomitable spirit? His love for her and his friends? "Barney did. He was way too awesome not to." Her lips flickered into a tight smile.

The car suddenly stopped and Horrible got out. "Take her down to the lab", he muttered to one of the mountainous security guards before he headed into a nearby building.

Lab. That didn't sound good. Robin tried to kick the guard in the shins as he tried to grab her, but she may as well have tried to kick at tree. "Don't struggle, Ms Sch-herbat-sky," Dr Horrible called out over his shoulder. "It's pointless."

"That's Scherbatsky!" She screamed after him. "Robin Scherbatsky!" But he had already disappeared inside.

*--*--*

"What's your name?" Robin asked him as she watched Dr Horrible scribbled complicated mathematical equations onto a whiteboard. "I can't very well call you Doctor Horrible."

He muttered something.

"Excuse me?"

"Billy." He said vaguely, chewing the end of a pen. "Billy... is my name." He added, as an afterthought. As if it wasn't clear. The way he stood, his stance, the shape of his shoulders, tapering down to his trim waist, it was so achingly familiar. It was almost ghoulish.

Robin shook her head. She knew what she _should_ be doing right now, instead of staring at Dr Horrible's back. Part of her was even looking for some way to escape. There were plenty of heavy objects in Dr Horrible's brightly-lit, high-tech lab. There were even some weapons. All she had to do was hit him on the head…?

But she was rooted to the spot. "B-Billy, you have to l-let me go," she stuttered.

He ignored her, still writing.

Robin swallowed and tried to steady her nerves. Her hands were shaking, too hard. So hard. On the way to the lab, she'd been led through a room. A dark room, lit with purple strip-lighting. Her hands still shook. Her heart still pounded in her ears.

That dark room, that room full of people and parts of people. People with parts missing, was a room full of Zombies.

Zombies.

No, that wasn't the right word.

_Experiments._

Robin Scherbatsky had cried a lot recently, so much so that sometimes she thought she had no more tears left. But if she could have wept for the people (his victims) in that lab then she would have.

"This is wrong…" She said softly. "You know that?" She forced herself to keep talking, even though all she wanted to do was wrap both her arms around her own body, slump to the floor and rock back and forth. "You won. You saved us. Give it up. You need to stop."

His hand dropped to his side and he turned slowly around. The expression on his face was truly terrifying. It had probably cowed many people before - his minions? What did you call people who worked for a mad scientist? But he hadn't counted on one thing before.

"How can I?" He said, a deep sadness in his eyes. "This is my life's work. To save her. Penny."

In the centre of his dark, dark room had been a metal casket containing a body, lit with a soft white glow around the face. Ice crystals formed on the outside, where snake-like tubes ate their way through the walls. Inside lay a young woman with red hair. Robin could see the steely determination on Dr Horrible's face. He'd given up on life and he'd chosen death instead. He'd chosen to live and breathe death for thirty years. His life's work. Now he tries to stare Robin down, tried to persuade her with the force of his will.

"Barney used to look at me like that and it's never worked before." Robin gulped. "Twenty years, we were together." Horrible didn't say anything, he just continued to stare at her. Robin tried another tack. "Seriously, are you guys related because… damn."

"What?" Dr Horrible shook his head, blinking rapidly.

"You look like him. My- Barney." She got out her billfold and pulled out an old photograph of the five of then when they were young. Her and Lily and Marshall and Ted and Barney. "Look, this is him."

Dr Horrible stared at the photograph for a moment then he covered his face with both hands, rubbing it. When he looked back at her, his expression was unchanged - utter resignation to his fate, as if nothing she could say would persuade him from this path. Robin she felt the bile rise in her throat. "Don't do that," she snapped, harshly.

"Do what?"

"Give up!" She yelled. Her nerves were spun out, stretched to breaking point. She got to her feet and marched up to him, shoving him so that he stumbled back against the white board, toppling it over. "Fight, god damn it!" She shouted. "Don't just give up! You've got your whole life ahead of you! Don't throw it away on this! Let her go!"

"It's not that easy!" He yelled back at her. "You think it's that easy?"

Suddenly, Robin had no idea why they were yelling or why there were tears in her eyes but suddenly the weight of the hypocrisy hit her and her lips crashed into his. Then she forgot who he was and why she was here and suddenly it was only them, two people who'd lost everything.

Not everything, she realised. Her friends were still back in New York.

But her pain had blocked out everything, it had driven them both into a murderous rage.

Dr Horrible kissed her back. He was clumsy, almost inept; he certainly wasn't Barney. But he was solid and warm and _something_ so she didn't stop.

Neither did he.

*--*--*

Billy didn't smell like Barney. His bare skin tasted bitter, like salt and chemicals. Maybe he smelled a little bit like Barney did, right after he'd taken his nutrients. But then even the Zombified Barney hadn't smelled like he used to when he was alive, at least not towards the end.

Billy didn't make love like Barney. He was tentative, but eager, and Robin had ridden him mercilessly, taken him to places that she doubted he'd ever been before. But Billy was a quick study, she gave him that. At the slightest encouragement he been extraordinarily willing to please her, and he took her instructions very seriously. What Billy lacked in Barney's skill, he made up for in enthusiasm.

It didn't feel like cheating.

And yet it did.

When dawn broke, the sunlight streaming, too bright, too harsh, into his tiny bedroom, Robin looked down at Billy. He was asleep in her arms, his blonde hair sticking up in little licks and curls and spikes. He was beautiful, she realised. From the deep lines in his brow to the blond tips of his eyelashes, gently brushing his pale cheeks, to his soft lips, that she suspected had never even kissed a woman before her.

Something inside her broke.

Robin slipped out of his bed, silently gathering her clothes, and made it all the way to the lab before her brain caught up with her body.

Then she sank to the floor, by the broken whiteboard and covered her face, curled up in a foetal ball and let it all out, with huge, wracking sobs.

Billy found her like that, when the sounds finally woke him. He sat with her and drew circles on her back with his long, delicate fingers and he murmured reassurances.

"Robin?" He said.

"Oh god, I hate this so much," Robin gulped. "Just don't want to hurt like this any more."

"Yeah," he sighed. "Yeah. I know." And he pulled her into his arms.


End file.
